


Know-It-All

by betweenthebliss



Series: Fragile Tension [1]
Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Don't Ask Don't Tell, M/M, Partnership, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenthebliss/pseuds/betweenthebliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal knows a lot of things about his team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know-It-All

Hannibal Smith has never claimed to be a complex guy. He's never asked for much apart from the freedom to do what he does best and let his team do the same. He knows himself well; what he is, what he isn't. It makes him a better leader-- the confidence he has during missions some say is insane, but he knows the only good reason to doubt the outcome is if you don't know everything there is to know about a situation, and that includes the people involved.

Not that everything goes down perfect every time. Sometimes shit goes pear-shaped (and wouldn't he like to strangle whoever put that rocket in Pike's hands) but you get through it by knowing your team enough to know that when you improvise, they'll improvise with you. Hannibal's lucky enough to have that. He's good-- no, _great_ at reading people, and he can say without hesitation that by now the guys on his team are as familiar as the scars on his own hands. He knows what makes them tick, their idiosyncrasies-- B.A.'s sentimentality and tendency to introspection, Murdock's creativity and odd sense of logic, and Face-- well, there isn't much Hannibal doesn't know about Face.

It's not just that they've been friends for over a decade, though that doesn't hurt. It's a rare thing he's only had with one or two other people in his entire life, and he still doesn't know what to call it when he knows someone inside and out because on some level they're almost exactly like him. Most people would laugh to hear him say he and Face are alike, but most people don't know them well enough to see how obvious it is. Sometimes he's pretty sure he could carry on both sides of a conversation between them, predict what Face would reply to everything he says within a word or two every time. And it's stopped being funny how they mirror each other-- reflect and complement, sometimes like interlocking puzzle pieces, sometimes like two sides of the same coin.

In Face, Hannibal sees a flash of himself twenty years ago, plus a spark of something he never had, a fire that makes Hannibal sure that in twenty more years Face will have gone places he's never dreamed of, done things that'll make their antics of the past eight years seem tame, if that's even possible. Face isn't just Hannibal's protege and friend; he's Hannibal's hope that they're pulling these crazy stunts for a reason-- that they're making the world a better place, as cheesy as it sounds.

He's so proud of Face sometimes it aches, which sounds girly but is completely true. It shows, he knows that too; he can't help that Face can read it written all over him. How's he supposed to keep it in? Face comes to them like a dog with a stick, this brilliant plan, maybe more like a kid with a piece of found treasure, and it's all a game of misdirection; keeping B.A. and Murdock's eyes on his hands while his eyes lock onto Hannibal's with this sly, hopeful smile that says _For you, all for you_. Hannibal has a great poker face, but he's never been able to keep his friend from reading his mind; Face sees Hannibal's pride and all but glows with it, turns that grin up full wattage, lighting Hannibal up with a twist to his gut, and all he can say is, "That's good work, kid."

He's pretty sure Face knows the 'kid' thing is mostly for his own benefit-- it's become that, anyway-- and in fact he's pretty sure Face knows a lot more about Hannibal's feelings than he'd like. They've been through too much not to be able to read each other like books; hell, without being able to speak without words they'd both be dead ten times over. The great thing is (Hannibal thinks it's great, anyway) is that Face gets they don't need to talk about it. Nothing to talk about, really-- it's one conversation Hannibal couldn't predict, and that's enough to tell him they don't need to have it.

Face is happy with things as they are. Hannibal asks in roundabout ways, which Face can probably see through but does him the courtesy of pretending he can't, and so he knows the status quo is okay with both of them-- knowing, and not acknowledging. For Hannibal, it's more than enough; most of the time, anyway.

Some rare times he has to push the point, has to make sure he's not just imagining it. Like tonight; after 48 hours of planning, driving, shooting, sweating, fighting, bleeding and God knows what else; when they're done using Sosa's lock pick to execute another ridiculous escape, dodging bullets, missiles, explosions, fires and a handful of other disasters along the way; Hannibal's feeling frayed at the edges. He pockets the keys from their new and creatively acquired car, and hangs back as B.A. and Murdock head into the safe house to start dinner. Face is a step ahead of him, seems to realize he's alone, and turns back just in time for Hannibal to catch him, crowd him up against the wall.

"You okay?" he asks, voice rougher than his hands on Face's shoulders, a stripe of moonlight giving him a clear shot of wide blue eyes and serious mouth.

"Yeah boss," Face breathes, almost a sigh, the echo of a smile at one corner of his mouth. "I'm good."

"You sure?" he presses, because he has to know, and there's really only one way to frame it. "That was some kiss," he says, hoping it doesn't sound as petty as it feels.

The thing is, he isn't jealous, not of her-- maybe it makes him an asshole, or maybe it just makes him honest, but he's Hannibal Goddamn Smith. He knows Sosa will never really compete with him when it comes to Face's attention, loyalty or time. So if he envies anything it's the ease, the freedom they had as they stood there making out in broad daylight. Hannibal can't be kissed like that by anyone he'd want to be kissing; not now, anyway, and by the time Don't Ask Don't Tell gets repealed he'll be too old for it to matter.

He's grateful when Face interrupts his maudlin inner monologue. "She had to give me the pick," he says, shrugging. His eyes dart to one side, then back up to Hannibal's, faking nonchalance most other people would buy. "Maybe someday she'll really mean it."

Hannibal doesn't say what he's thinking. He wants to erase the shade of pain in Face's voice, tell him he's going to fix it for them, but there are only so many promises he can make without having plans to back them up. "That really was great work," he says instead, indulging himself, letting one hand slip up to the back of Face's neck and rest there.

Usually Face will duck him when he touches him like this; not from discomfort or lack of interest, but something more akin to preemptive defense. Like he knows if he lets Hannibal keep it up, he's not going to be able to be casual about it anymore. Hannibal respects that; he wonders how long he's going to be able to stay casual, himself. Either way, he's glad this time Face seems to appreciate the touch as much as Hannibal needs it, seems to get that it's as much for Hannibal's comfort as his own, and doesn't pull away.

"Thanks, boss," Face says, and this time that smile's only for him, and he feels a measure of that tightness in his stomach ease. He doesn't let go just yet; part of him wants to see how long he can stand like this before Face pulls away, and part of him wants to hang on just because it feels good. The ends of Face's hair curl soft against his fingers, and he can feel the strong beat of Face's pulse under his thumb. There are too damn few moments he gets to enjoy just for the hell of it, and starting today they're probably only going to get rarer.

Finally Hannibal grins back, steps away, uses his hand on Face's neck to tug him in toward the house. "C'mon kid. Let's go eat some curry and figure out what our next move is gonna be."

Hannibal knows a lot of things about his team. He knows whatever's coming their way, they can handle it-- not just survive through it, but turn it around to work in their favor. He knows whatever he does, Face will support him in it, that no matter what insane shit comes their way there's someone who'll have his back.

He knows the way Face walks up close so their shoulders touch all the way into the house isn't an accident, either.


End file.
